The Passenger from Calais eBook

“The 2.15?” The gleam of light went out
entirely from his stolid face. “I have
an idea you are right, sir. You see the two boats
come in so near each other and lie at the same pier.
I could easily make a mistake between them.”

“It is my firm belief,” I said, utterly
disgusted with the fellow, “my firm belief that
you have made a mistake all through. You never
saw the ladies at all, either of you.”
I turned upon the conductor with a fierce scowl.
“You are a rank humbug; you have taken my money
under false pretences. I’ve a precious
good mind to report you to your superiors, and insist
upon your refunding the money. You’ve swindled
me out of it, thief and liar that you are.”

“Come, come, don’t speak so freely.
My superiors will always listen first to one of their
own employes, and it will be awkward if I charge you
with obstructing an official and making false charges
against him.”

Mine is a hasty temper; I am constrained to confess
to a fault which often stood in my way especially
in my particular business. The conductor’s
insolence irritated me beyond measure, and coming as
it did on the top of bitter disappointment I was driven
into a deplorable access of rage, which I shall always
regret. Without another word I rushed at him,
caught him by the throat, and shook him violently,
throwing him to the ground and beating his head upon
it savagely.

Help must have come to him very speedily and to good
purpose, for I soon found myself in custody, two colossal
gendarmes holding me tight on each side. I was
quickly removed like any malefactor to the lock-up
in the town above, and was thus for the moment effectively
precluded from continuing my pursuit.

Law and order are not to be lightly trifled with in
Switzerland, least of all in the Canton de Vaud.
I had been taken in the very act of committing a savage
assault upon an official in the execution of his duty,
which is true to the extent that every Swiss official
conceives it to be his duty to outrage the feelings
and tyrannize over inoffensive strangers.

The police of Lausanne showed me little consideration.
I was not permitted to answer the charge against me,
but was at once consigned to a cell, having been first
searched and despoiled of all my possessions.
Among them was my knife and a pocket revolver I generally
carried, also my purse, my wallet with all my private
papers, and my handbag. Both wallet and handbag
were locked; they demanded the keys, thinking I had
them hidden on my person, but I said they could find
them for themselves, the truth being the locks were
on a patent plan and could be opened with the fingers
by any one who knew. This secret I chose to retain.

When alone in my gloomy prison, with leisure to reflect
more calmly on my painful position, I realized what
an ass I had been, and I vented my wrath chiefly on
myself. But it was idle to repine. My object
now was to go free again at the earliest possible
moment, and I cast about to see how I might best compass
it.